


Cold Turkey

by Baroness_Blixen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, mulder can be an asshole, spending holidays together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 01:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16863418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baroness_Blixen/pseuds/Baroness_Blixen
Summary: Thanksgiving. Stranded on a case. How does that go?





	Cold Turkey

“Scully, I’m sorry.”

He’s said it at least a hundred times now, repeating the sentiment every five or ten minutes. As if she could forget it. Mulder varies it each time, puts some additional flavor in; sometimes adding her name, sometimes saying he’s really sorry or very sorry. No matter how often he parrots the words, though, they don’t change anything.

“Can you just stop?”

“You mean driving?”

“I mean apologizing.”

“Oh. Sure, I can do that. I’m sor-,” Scully gives him a look and she sees him swallow the rest of the word. “I’m sore,” he says, his face almost triumphant. “From all the driving, you know,” he adds as though it would make her believe it. She nods anyway, giving him this.

To be fair, they have been driving four hours, trying to make it home after all. She’s finally decided to give up. In Arkansas. Mulder offered to keep driving until they made it home, but there’s no use to it. Even if she let him – and with his still fairly recent head injury she really doesn’t want him to forego sleep – they’d never make it back in time for Thanksgiving dinner. Her stomach grumbles, reminding her that she hasn’t eaten in hours. It’s not late yet, but the roads are empty. Everyone is home, celebrating, stuffing their faces, spending time with loved one. Mulder and Scully are alone, in some shady motel in Arkansas.

They’re the only ones here today.

“Don’t say it, Mulder. I mean it.” They’re in her room and she’s going through her overnight bag, trying to decide what to wear. It’s too early for pajamas probably, though that’s the only thing she feels like wearing. When she turns to Mulder, she sees the apology on his face. It’s as if it were written on his forehead.

“I know you wanted to spend Thanksgiving with your mom.” She groans and falls backwards onto the surprisingly comfortable bed. “I know you don’t want to hear it, Scully. But I really am sorry.” This is it. She can’t take it anymore; not his guilt trip, not his puppy voice, none of it. She sits back up, stares at him.

“Stop it, Mulder. You decided to take on a case this close to Thanksgiving. I told you that I didn’t want to fly out here and you said we’d make it back home with plenty time to spare. I appreciate your apology, but it doesn’t change anything. I’m still here and not home with my family. So please just stop apologizing.” He’s quiet, shuffles his feet. He looks lost, everything about him defeated. But she’s too exhausted, too furious. “You never take anything I say seriously. The only person you care about is yourself.” She goes for the kill. Scully knows Thanksgiving is hard for him, the most difficult of all the holidays because of Samantha. But she just can’t take it anymore.

“You’re right, Scully. You’re right.” She expects him to say more, to specify what he means. Go on a rant and apologize even though she told him to stop. He doesn’t. Instead he withdraws. Without looking at her, his hands buried in his pockets, he walks out of her motel room like a kicked puppy. The door falls shut behind him silently and she watches it, anticipates. Nothing happens. The door remains closed, the room stays quiet. Scully hugs her knees and puts her head on them like a little girl. She shivers and hugs herself tighter. Meanwhile her eyes are glued to the door, closed and motionless. A fixture in this cheap motel room. She is not sure she’d apologize if Mulder were to return now. But she does want him to come back. Desperately.

Right now.

It takes almost an hour until her wish is granted. She hears a soft knock on the door; he won’t just barge in, not after what happened earlier. Her anger is long gone and has made space for a stinging emptiness inside of her. Neither of them should be alone on Thanksgiving and if she’s honest, she misses Mulder already. Her pain in the ass, apologizes too much for who he is, puppy-eyed partner. Her friend. Her best friend even. And maybe, if the last few months are any indication, finally something more. A smile sneaks up on her face as she opens the door for him. Mulder’s expression is decidedly uncertain and she wonders show long he’s been standing outside, debating whether he should knock at all or leave her alone. He holds up a small plastic bag, an obvious olive branch.

“I thought you might be hungry.” Scully makes room for him to step inside. Cold air surrounds him and she shivers again, craving warmth and coziness. But she doesn’t want to pressure him about where he’s been or what he’s done. Leftover guilt and disappointment still hangs in the air, like a guest no one invited. Instead of addressing it, she rummages through the bag.

“Turkey sandwiches?”

“It’s all they had left.” She takes out a big bag of potato chips, a bottle of cranberry juice and a small bag of candy corn that looks like it might be from last year’s Halloween.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Mulder says, the rasp in his voice yet another apology. He shrugs; he tried. It’s not a feast, but they won’t go to bed hungry.

Scully hands him one of the turkey sandwiches. She bites into her own and she is surprised how good it is. The turkey is tender and she moans, tasting it on her tongue. Mulder’s mouth hangs open, his hand suspended in mid-air as he watches her.

“Sorry,” she mumbles with her mouth half full. “I didn’t expect it to be this good. Try it.” His hand moves to his mouth, but he doesn’t take his eyes off her as he takes a bite. His eyes flash in surprise and Scully chuckles. “Told you so.”

“This really is good. Let’s have some cranberry juice.” They don’t have any glasses so they share the bottle like two vagrants, passing it back and forth. “I’ve had worse Thanksgiving dinners.” Scully opens the bag of chips and snacks on them, the crunch loud in the small room. Neither of them is ready to talk about what transpired earlier. She isn’t sure they’ll talk about it at all tonight. Or ever. They’re too good at ignoring their emotions. They can just push them aside again and again. Tonight the thought saddens her.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, Scully.” Mulder wipes his face with a napkin, hands her one as well. He’s said the same thing earlier and she wants to roll her eyes at him, but stops herself. “But I really am sorry. I am. I wasn’t thinking when the case landed on my desk. I just wanted to do something. We’ve only had one case since…” Since he’s returned from insanity. Since he almost died – again. For days after she had nightmares of Mulder dying on that table, his beautiful brain nothing but grey matter spilled on the floor. Simply because she was too late. She hasn’t mentioned any of this to Mulder, knowing he’d feel guilty about that too. 

“I needed to get out of the office and I wasn’t thinking.” About her, he means. She hears it loud and clear even though he doesn’t say it. “I thought we could make it back in time. We didn’t and that’s my fault. So one last time… I’m sorry, Scully. For ruining your Thanksgiving.”

“Apology accepted and you didn’t ruin it completely.” She motions at the food, of what’s left of it. She’s pleasantly full. “But we’re not going anywhere before Christmas. I mean it, Mulder.” She licks her salty fingers, revels in the taste from the sandwich from the chips and the sandwich.

“I promise,” he answers, putting his hand over his heart.

“I want to spend Christmas with my family.” A shadow passes over his face and takes his smile away. She said the wrong thing. He thinks she doesn’t consider him her family. No matter how often she invites him over, he won’t believe it. This man, Oxford-educated psychologist and brilliant profiler, doesn’t understand the simplest things. She scoots closer to him on her knees, crushing the candy corn under her. She wasn’t planning on eating it anyway.

“I haven’t told you yet what I’m thankful for this year.” They’re so close now that Scully can smell the cranberry juice on him, the turkey too. A few crumbs are on his shirt, but she doesn’t care about those now. “I am thankful you’re alive. This past year hasn’t been easy for many reasons.” They both swallow hard, almost in unison.

Diana.

“But you’re alive. We’re both alive. I am thankful that you’re here with me, Mulder. I’m thankful you’re my… friend.” Color rushes into his cheeks.

“I am thankful for the same things,” he says, his words rushed. “I am thankful for you, Scully. That you’re in my life.” She nods, agreeing with him. She feels the same. As if she’d be here with him in this motel room if she didn’t feel the same way.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mulder.” She leans forward and gives him a quick peck on his lips. It’s acceptance, it’s a thank you and it’s a promise. One she hopes he’ll follow up on and soon.


End file.
